


I Followed my Heart into the Fire

by hannanotmontana



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Violence, shows up 29 years late with a fic from a floppy disc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 04:04:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19165456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannanotmontana/pseuds/hannanotmontana
Summary: Crowley gets dragged back down to Hell, Aziraphale comes to the rescue. Even though he's not very into smiting.





	I Followed my Heart into the Fire

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: the story gets rather gory in the middle, and explicit at the end (though I suppose you can read safely until almost the end if you're not interested in the explicit bit - you'll still be able to enjoy the story)

After the Not-pocalypse about a month ago, things had settled back into a familiar rhythm easily. The only difference was that Aziraphale and Crowley had spent almost every single day in each other’s company since, with the exception of a couple of hours at most. It didn’t exactly matter what it was they were doing just so long as they were able to keep an eye on each other.

Currently, Crowley watched how Aziraphale perched on the stool behind the counter of his bookshop, mountains of paperwork covering every inch of the flat surface except for a little square that was Crowley’s laptop. His glasses sat precariously at the tip of his nose and every now and then he took a sip of cocoa that had, miraculously not run out for the last couple hours. Miraculously was probably the wrong choice of word, though, considering Crowley had been the one making sure the angel was well-supplied.

“Really, my dear, when was the last time you’ve actually done your taxes?” Aziraphale asked without looking up from his calculator.

Crowley pretended to think very long and hard. “Oh, must’ve been- let me see- ah yes – never.” He smirked at his friend. “Nobody ever checked. I don’t think they will, ever, to be honest.” And they wouldn’t, because Crowley simply couldn’t imagine being under the scrutiny of a tax collector.

“You never know,” Aziraphale reprimanded. Then he picked up a piece of paper. “And what’s this about a reserve in Borneo?” He gave Crowley a sharp look over the brim of his glasses. “You’re not funding those nasty poachers, are you?”

“Is that what you think of me?” Crowley asked, actually wounded. There was a line when it came to his demon-y deeds, and that line included, amongst other things, children and animals. Well, aside from the odd duck in St. James’s Park. “It’s a sanctuary, okay. Gets do-gooders like you off my back,” he added dismissively.

Now a beaming smile replaced Aziraphale’s accusing look from before and he practically radiated happiness. “Oh really? How wonderful! What for? Monkeys? Leopards?” Crowley felt a pull somewhere in his chest as he watched of Aziraphale’s nose crinkled from his excitement and happiness. Seeing it actually made the demon happy, in turn.

“Snakes, actually,” he muttered, heat rising into his cheeks. Aziraphale’s eyes widened for a moment at the admission and then the beaming smile softened into something more intimate, yet more meaningful.

“Oh, I see.”

Then the angel went back to his books, smiling to himself. Crowley tried to feel annoyed by it, but couldn’t find it in his heart.

Instead, he pestered Aziraphale about how he typed using only his two index fingers, about how doing taxes was not even important in the first place, about how he still didn’t have WiFi or even a mobile phone for the next couple of hours, all of which Aziraphale took with saintly patience.

Finally the angel was finished and stacked Crowley’s paper in a neat pile, alphabetically and with book marks for easy perusal. He stood up and stretched, Crowley watching with interest how his shirt and vest rode up and revealed the barest hint of creamy white skin.

“Let’ssss get dinner,” the demon offered, not even noticing the slight hiss that sometimes crept into his speech when he was distracted or something else occupied his mind. Something like a certain angel suddenly showing that he wasn’t just a walking pillar of goodness in people’s clothes but rather a being made from skin and flesh and bones. Soft, warm stretches of skin.

“Dinner?” Aziraphale asked with enthusiasm, pulling his clothes in place. He looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s half past two in the morning.”

“It’s always dinner time somewhere.” Crowley suddenly grinned. “Have you ever been to Tijuana, angel?”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes, thinking for a moment. “Can’t say I have. But from what little I know of American comedy movies, Tijuana sounds like rather a den of iniquity.”

Crowley ignored the den-of-iniquity part and patted Aziraphale on the shoulder with a smile. “There’s a place with great _bunuelos_. You’ll love them.”

ooo

The _bunuelos_ really had been delicious. Afterwards, they’d sat in the sun, sipping margaritas and watched the sunset in companionable silence. The whole city seemed to have taken a miraculous break from the whole drug war and murdering one another and whatever else it was the humans were up to lately.

Afterwards, Crowley had brought him back home, collected his tax papers and they’d agreed to have dinner at the sushi place Aziraphale liked in two days’ time. The angel hadn’t heard from Crowley since, but that wasn’t unusual, he’d said something about taking a nap and, knowing Crowley, that could last from anywhere between half an hour to 36.

It was early afternoon, the streets bustling with people, although no customer had made their way inside the angelic book shop all day. Aziraphale sat in his back room with an inventory list. Taking stock had become rather a nightmare with Adam’s alterations to his selection – yet Aziraphale was infinitely thankful for everything the boy had done and wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides, the _Boy’s Book of Adventures_ contained useful information like… how to craft a decoding disk. Or ten great games for the outdoors.

Everything was as it was supposed to be. Just then, the telephone rang. It didn’t let itself deter from ringing by the angel staring pointedly at it either. With a sigh, he reached for the receiver.

“I’m afraid we’re closed due to…” Aziraphale looked at his mug of cocoa. “Maintenance. Please consider ringing back another-“

“You’re the angel, right? Erzirafell?” a boy’s voice asked, completely ignoring what Aziraphale had just said.

“Er, Adam? Is that you?” the angel asked, slightly confused. Then, in an afterthought, he corrected. “It’s Aziraphale, actually.”

“Yes, it’s me,” Adam confirmed, sounding pleased at being recognized.

Aziraphale smiled. “It’s very good to hear from you, my boy. How are things with… the rest of your life?”

“’S going good, thanks. Though Dog got beat up by Wensley’s cat and now he has to wear a cone o’ shame. He’s not very happy.”

“I can imagine,” Aziraphale agreed, swaying between worry and amusement about a Hellhound wearing a cone of shame. “So, how can I help you? Are you looking for a book or-?”

“Nope, thanks. Anathema got me covered. I’m actually calling about your friend.”

“My friend- oh, Crowley?” Aziraphale frowned. “What about him? Did he get you into trouble?”

“No, I think… I think he got himself into trouble,” Adam said gloomily.

This confused Aziraphale only more. “How do you mean?”

“Like… I have these dreams sometimes, right? And he’s been in one! Only he didn’t really look like himself. More like- have you seen Snakes on a Plane? My mum doesn’t know I’ve seen it cuz I’m not old enough but yeah – he looked like one of those. Only not on a plane of course.”

There was so much to uncover in this short monologue, but Aziraphale settled one the most concerning one. “Who lets you watch this kind of movies? _Oh,_ _nevermind_! You dreamed of Crowley looking like a snake?”

“Yeah. And he was in a grimy sort of place. Not like Brian’s room or anything. Like, _really_ messy. And dark. Lots of concrete. And he was scared.” Adam sounded almost as unhappy as Aziraphale felt.

There was no telling how Adam knew all this, and with any other regular human child, the angel wouldn’t have worried. But this was the ex-Antichrist. And his connection to one place in particular was still there, even if the Apocalypse had been averted for the time being.

“I- thank you, my boy. I think- yes, I think I need to get going.”

“You’re going to make sure he’s alright, right?” Adam asked and sounded like he knew the answer already.

“I’ll certainly try…” Aziraphale said distractedly, already eying the rest of his shop for something that would come in useful in his venture while he hung up.

In the end, there wasn’t much he could take. He’d prepared as best as he could and briefly wondered, if he should call International  Express to see how fast they could deliver a certain flaming sword – but then again, he’d never liked the thing anyway. Too many bits where one could cut themselves, not to mention fire. If Hell held enough of one thing, it was fire.

Miraculously, an empty cab was standing right across the street and Aziraphale got in. He figured that he might as well take the front entrance and start searching from the top.

The angel refused to imagine what Crowley was going through. From his brief first visit down there, he was rather convinced it wasn’t exactly a stern talking to.

“Hold on, dear. I’m coming for you,” he whispered.

ooo

Crowley didn’t remember being snatched. He remembered falling asleep on his couch and then a plummeting feeling as he was being sucked down – not down into the cushions, capital D Down.

It had been too easy. Their ruse had been amazing, neither Heaven nor Hell wiser. But as it always was the case, the demons of Hell just didn’t know when to stop. That was, after all, basically how the First Rebellion had started. There had been warnings about Falling. And they just hadn’t stopped until they were all skydiving capital D Down. It was actually one of the few things Crowley genuinely liked about Hell. They always got right back up again. Commendable quality, really. He just wished it wasn’t about torturing and executing him.

He hit the concrete floor with a thud and before he even fully realized that apparently you couldn’t spell kidnapping without ‘nap’, something heavy clicked around his neck and a searing pain shot through his head. A soft humming sound came from close to his ears, but also nestled deeply into the back of his mind.

“Well, well, well…” a sharp, slightly hissy voice purred from behind Crowley. Then someone kicked him in the spine and he slumped to the floor with a grunt that emptied the air right out of his lungs. Another voice cackled.

A whole cascade of kicks rained down on the demon on the ground.

ooo

The kicks subsided, eventually, but by then, Crowley’s back was numb and his generally skin-tone along the colour palette of bruised blueish purple.

There were holy signs and sigils etched into the iron collar around his neck, rendering him dizzy, in pain, and unable to use any power that he possessed.

He was slumped in the corner of his little concrete cell, trying not look as if he was cowering. Which he was, actually. Two demons were looming over him.

“Hello… Kitty,” Crowley rasped and spat out blood. The taller, sturdier demon roared angrily and bared his fangs at his prisoner. Crowley narrowed his eyes. Well, left eye. The right eye socket was swollen shut already, felt strangely hollow and was seeping some kind of liquid. “I see you’ve had a little make over, Allocer. Didn’t you use to wear a lion’s head? What’s that now? Leopard?”

“Jaguarrrr,” Allocer corrected, rolling the Rs deep in the back of his wild-cat throat. Spit dripped on the ground from the razor sharp fangs. “They hunt snakes, you know.”

“Ah,” Crowley said, slightly worried because he began to regain feeling in his back. Said feeling being excruciating pain.

“In case you wondered,” said the second demon, their voice screeching, “it’s a human thing called irony.” They grinned. “You like the humans, don’t you? That’s irony, too.”

This one, Crowley knew. “Murmur. Nice wings. Nice chicken legs. Nice claws. Very pointy.”

Murmur stretched their wings, black like all demons’, but shaped like those of a very specific bird of prey, much like his eyes and claws. “Serpent-eagle.”

It dawned on Crowley then that Hell seemed to be serious about this.

ooo

Crowley’s world narrowed down to mostly pain. When Allocer and Murmur had run out of limbs and organs to tear, bruise, puncture, burn or skin, they’d made sure Crowley supplied them with more. Namely, his wings.

“Lord Beelzebub will be pleased,” Murmur, their beak dripping with Crowley’s blood, observed as Allocer chewed his way through the muscles on Crowley’s left wing. The right one already hung limply on the demon’s back, bloodied and torn. Black feathers covered the ground. “You see, this one is rather personal. It’s one thing to prance around up there after stopping the fucking Apocalypse. But prancing around there with an _angel_ -“they said _angel_ the same way other people said _dog shite_ , “and rubbing it into everyone’s face? Makes our Lords look mighty inconsistent. Undermines their authority.”

Murmur dragged on of their bird legs across Crowley’s chest agonizingly slow, ripping open clothes and flesh. One of the claws punctured something inside Crowley and he couldn’t hold back a cry of pain.

“I’m corrupting A- the angel. Obviously. ‘s all part of the plan,” he told them, wincing, trying to direct attention away from Aziraphale.

“Piss poor job, if you ask me,” Allocer mumbled around a mouth full of blood and feathers. “Been at it for what? 6000 years?”

“He can bathe in holy water. Probably defected long ago,” the serpent-eagle demon chipped in. They reached back and hit Crowley in the face, but drew back their hand with a hiss when it came in contact with one of the sigils.

“Careful,” Allocer said, eyeing the metal worryingly. “Word is that thing comes from the private collection of Lord Lucifer himself. Back from his angel days. It’s gonna eat right through you, given time.”

“I know,” Murmur snapped and nursed their hand. Then they looked up, cocked their head and listened to something Crowley couldn’t hear. “Time for the pep rally.”

Allocer immediately dropped the wing he was chewing on and got up, trampling across the broken feathery appendage without care for Crowley writhing in pain. “The rallies are the best thing that happened to us since the Apocalypse. Great fun.”

Murmur nodded in agreement and with a rather menacing “Back soon,” both demons left.

Crowley toppled over then, blinking hard with his good eye to stop a single tear from falling. He lay in a pool of his own blood, the humming from the holy sigils slowly drowning out everything, and, for the first time in thousands of years, he tried his hand at praying.

Not to God, or Satan. He prayed to no-one in particular that Aziraphale was safe and that enough strength remained in Crowley to not say anything about his angel to his torturers. That way, Aziraphale stood a chance of coming out of this whole business unscathed.

ooo

Aziraphale, in the meantime, found Hell to be severely lacking… well, demons. Limbo held a few familiar faces and although the angel would’ve loved to stay for a quick chat with Homer, he hurried on.

The Second Circle was much the same, although the demons that usually were on strong-wind-duty seemed to have taken a short break too. The unlucky sufferers were given a rather lucky break and rested, although quite a lot of them engaged in behaviour that made Aziraphale blush and look pointedly the other way. It was exactly the sort of behaviour that had got them thrown into Lust in the first place.

Bewildered, Aziraphale continued his path, feeling in his heart that he came closer to Crowley with every step.

ooo

Crowley had been unconscious for a while and had no idea how much time had passed when the door to his room opened.

He lifted his head slowly, which in itself was an accomplishment of Herculean likeness. The heavy blessed iron around his neck weighed more than just its physical make. His sizzling flesh ached and blood dripped on the floor.

What he saw clearly had to be a hallucination. The figure was wearing curdory trousers and a familiar, creamy-beige coat. Enormous white wings, pristine and radiant in the grubby surroundings, sprouted from the figure’s back and a halo crowned his head. In his hands, wrapped in a silk handkerchief and dripping a dark substance that looked like a mixture between tar and blood, he held a large, curled… horn.

“Angel!” Crowley rasped, then coughed up blood.

“That’s exactly what the rude chap outside shouted at me,” Aziraphale said, tone slightly miffed. “Whatever happened to good day?”

“Aziraphale, please?” Crowley groaned in pain. The sigils had burned through most of the flesh and muscles on his shoulders and were now happily sizzling into bone.

The angel’s eyes widened and he dropped the horn hurrying over to the shackled demon. “Oh dear,” he muttered. “It’d take a miracle to figure out that lock-“ It sprang open as soon as he started fiddling with it.

Crowley immediately pushed at the collar while his rescuer pulled. The demon’s palms blistered where they touched the blessed metal, but it didn’t matter – he just needed to get the eerily humming thing _off_.

The collar made a satisfying ‘clank’ when it hit the ground. Then it gave a clear ringing sound like a bell before it burst into shrapnel.

Time slowed.

Crowley tried to turn away, although averting his face would obviously not stop the shrapnel from tearing his body into pieces. Then a third sound, this time a ‘whoosh’, accompanied by a brightness that flooded his sensitive eyes even after he reflexively closed them. He found himself embraced by warmth, light and the feeling of being completely safe.

It was eerily quiet. After a few seconds, he blinked his eyes open and found himself inches away from Aziraphale’s face. The angel wore a peculiar look, his eyes wide open almost as if he was surprised and his mouth was parted the slightest bit. Crowley gulped and licked his lips. He leaned closer and the white wall around him rustled slightly as Aziraphale shivered. Crowley realized that the angel’s wings were stretched around them, sheltering them in a cocoon of beautiful white feathers. Small metal splinters trickled to the ground. Aziraphale had shielded them both.

“Are you-“ “Do you-“ they both started.

Aziraphale’s face lit up with a small smile, which made his nose crinkle and woke the urge in Crowley to pull him close into something that was quite definitely not going to be an embrace. The stupid angel had no idea how gorg- “Go on?” Aziraphale offered.

“I didn’t know you even had reflexes,” Crowley muttered, not saying thank you. Or how glad he was to see Aziraphale. Or the thing about the nose crinkle. Crowley said none of that.

“I’m an angel. We’re… enigmatic,” Aziraphale explained, a twinkle in his eyes.

Crowley grinned. “Ineffable?”

“Don’t blaspheme,” Aziraphale chided without heat and let his gaze roam over Crowley’s beaten, bloody body. He reached out and carefully took the demon’s blistered hands in his. “You’ll be alright. No lasting damage.”

The demon squeezed Aziraphale’s hand, which was a mistake because it hurt like He- like Heav-, _like a bitch._ But it was worth the happy little sound the angle made in the back of his throat.

Crowley felt blood trickling down his face and shifted his weight. “Time to go, yeah?”

“Gladly,” Aziraphale agreed and lowered his wings.

A very pissed off, one-horned Azazel, goat lord, child-eater, stared at them, sporting a massive bump on his forehead.

Crowley winced when he unfolded his own wings quick like a snake and spread the bloody and tethered limbs around himself and the angel in a much darker, ranker-smelling cocoon. “So that’s where the rest of him is.”

Aziraphale looked guilty. “It was probably rude to tear off his horn, but in my defence, he did try to impale me with it the second I came around the corner and saw your cell.”

“You tore off Azazel’s horn with your bare hands?” Crowley let out a low whistle. “This is a new side, angel. You’re actually smiting demons!”

“One demon,” Aziraphale corrected immediately. “And I didn’t smite him. Only… parts of him.” He coughed awkwardly. “It wasn’t even difficult. Came loose at the first touch.” For some reason, he didn’t meet Crowley’s eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a mighty Angel of the Lo-“ Crowley drawled, then stopped himself because his brain started to follow up what Aziraphale had said. “What did you just say?” His thoughts raced about 300 miles per hour. Aziraphale was a mighty angel, no doubt. You didn’t become the Principality of the Eastern Gate for excelling at singing celestial harmonies. But even above-average angels didn’t just tear off horns of demons like Azazel. He was one of the big guys. Literally.

Crowley’s eyes narrowed to slits. And then they widened comically when he understood. “Oh, you beautiful bastard,” he breathed and then dropped his wings, grabbed the stunned angel by his arm und lunged his perfectly manicured hand straight into Azazel’s face as the demon came charging at them with a mighty roar. Azazel began to sizzle immediately.

“Ugh,” Aziraphale mumbled unhappily and squirmed while Crowley’s apparent watch guard did his best impression of the Wicked Witch of the West.

It was over within seconds. The angel looked at his fingers that dripped with demon soup, a greenish tint to his face, until Crowley handed him the silk handkerchief he had dropped.

“So, is it just your hands you washed with holy water or did you have a nice little soak before venturing down here?” Crowley asked casually, poking at the remains of the goat demon with the tip of his shoe.

“I didn’t think it’d be necessary to smite some ruffian with my bottom,” Aziraphale replied primly. Then his expression became more tender as he found Crowley’s eyes. “Are you ready to leave? Your wings-“

“Will be fine,” Crowley reassured – the angel as much as himself. He took a shaking breath. “Your flaming sword would come in handy,” he lamented. Then he bent down and picked up Azazel’s lone, discarded horn, careful not to touch the part that had come in contact with Aziraphale’s holy-watered hands.

“I did bring… this,” the angel said and pulled out a familiar, tartan Thermos flask.

Crowley instinctively swayed back a little at the familiar sight. “Is that-?”

Aziraphale smiled. “Tea, yes. A rather nice Oolong, to be precise.”

The demon’s eyes flared up. “ _They_ don’t know that.”

The angel grinned back. “Exactly.”

ooo

Crowley’s cell had been located close to the shore line of the muddiest river Aziraphale had ever seen, about halfway down Hell. There was still a very distinct lack of demons except for the smallest of critters that scurried away when they passed them.

It helped that Crowley, leaning heavily onto Aziraphale and leaving a trail of blood and feathers, waved around the flask wildly and hissed “Holy Water coming right through! Fresh from the source!” whenever one of the critters thought about giving them a second glance.

Soon, they’d reached the shoreline.

Aziraphale looked back the fiery red towers that glowed much like Crowley’s hair against the eternal hellfire backdrop. A chill went down his spine and didn’t go unnoticed by Crowley.

“The City of Dis,” he croaked. His throat was dry and hurt – he had completely forgotten how smoky and stuffy the air down here was.

“It’s magnificent in a really horrible way,” Aziraphale whispered in something akin to horrified awe.

“Magnificent,” Crowley agreed. Aziraphale didn’t notice that Crowley wasn’t exactly looking at or talking about the city.

Then, more conversationally and as if they weren’t currently attempting a prison break, Crowley added: “I was posted on the walls for a couple of days when I first came down here.” Fell. Sauntered. Whatever. “ _Incredibly_ boring. When they were looking for someone to mess around up there, I volunteered to go back upstairs. Eden, I mean. Not upstairs-upstairs.”

“So we met because you were bored?”

Crowley grinned. “We met because of the great, ineffable plan. It was fate.”

Aziraphale gave him a heartfelt smile. “I rather agree.” Then he turned and looked across the muddy waters of the river Styx. The sludge made sucking sounds whenever it hit the shore and in the slime the wrathful did their usual eternal fighting schtick. “I flew across. There was a ferry station, but the sign said ‘Off for lunch – back soon’.” He huffed. “I know these signs. _I put them up_. They mean whoever owns the ferry has no intention whatsoever about being ‘back soon’!” The angel carefully looked at Crowley. “Do you think your wings will carry you?”

Crowley unfolded his battered limbs once more, unable to contain a hiss of pain as he flapped them once experimentally. “They’ll have to,” he grit out menacingly, mostly directed at his own feathery appendages.

Aziraphale flapped his own wings once, powerfully, and lifted off serenely like… well, an angel. From two or three meters up he looked down at his friend worriedly.

The demon clenched his teeth and lifted off, too. He felt something snap, a searing flash of pain made him double over mid-air and a load of half-congealed blood landed on the soggy shore with a fat splash. Somehow, though, he stayed in the air.

“Not. A. Word,” Crowley hissed. His face was ashen and his eyes shut tightly. His whole mind was focused on one thought – his wings. Would. Carry. Him.

ooo

Crowley plummeted to the ground just barely above the shoreline of the river Styx at the Fourth Circle. A sickening crunchy noise came from his better wing when it got buried beneath his crumbled body. He lay lifeless, unmoving.

Unfortunately for the escapees, the pep rally had ended and the demons of Lower Hell had finally noticed their missing prisoner and had started to give chase. A ball of muddy slime had hit Crowley in flight, shortly before him and his guardian angel had made it across the river – and it had taken him down like a cannonball.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he dived after his best friend and fell to his knees next to him. Crowley didn’t breathe and Aziraphale reminded himself quite forcefully that that wasn’t too uncommon since neither of them actually needed to. But Crowley also didn’t talk, which was much more worrying.

“Crowley? Crowley! Can you hear me?” Aziraphale asked, gently pushing hair back from the fallen angel’s closed eyes. “Come on, you old serpent. You’ve been through worse.” Technically, an exaggeration.

“Come on Crowley, please,” he continued, voice becoming more unsteady by the second. Crowley didn’t show any sign of still being alive. “Please, don’t do this to me now.”

“Grawgh!” roared something that wasn’t Crowley and came at them right out of the Stygian marsh.

“Crowley!” roared Aziraphale, full of blank panic. Just then a claw drilled itself into the angel’s shoulder and everything went to He-, to Heav-, _really bad_.

Aziraphale cried out in pain and fury, and fear for his friend. His eyes turned bright white and shone like flashlights, his halo flared up and sent cutting rays of light through the grubby half-light of Hell. He lunged out his hand at his offender and the satisfying sizzling told him the Holy Water was still working.

He was dimly aware of the hoard of enemies that crawled towards them from the slimy water and the winged creatures coming at them from the direction of Dis. Instead, he bent down and cradled Crawley, wings and all, to his chest and leapt into the air with a mighty beat of his wings.

“He belongs with me,” he declared in a voice that wasn’t exactly raised but nevertheless thundered through all the circles. A couple of the more stupid, more bloodthirsty minions of Hell made a grab for the pair, but most of the pursuers realized one thing: Hell hath no fury like this particular angel coming for his best friend.

Aziraphale’s unlucky assailants disintegrated into slough that immediately became one with the river while the angel turned in the air and, holding Crowley safely in his arms, flew towards the light.

ooo

The bookshop was locked and secured, and Crowley lay on the small sofa, pale and unmoving. Aziraphale knelt beside him, his left hand cradling the demon’s head while he concentrated very hard on Crowley’s swollen eye.

Healing minor cuts was one thing, but there had never been an occasion that called for a miracle this size. The angel realised that the eye socket beneath the swollen flesh was almost beyond repair.

“I’m sorry, Crowley, for what they did to you. I promise I’ll do my best to make you feel better. But you can’t leave me alone now,” he told his lifeless friend. “I need you. Do you understand?”

There was no reply.

Aziraphale blinked hard and then took a deep breath, concentrating on something deep inside him. A light, a source of warmth and love, his own very core. His soul.

Light began to seep into the demon’s face and slowly, very slowly, he began to heal. The light wandered wherever Aziraphale brushed his hand, mended raw flesh and seeped right into Crowley’s body through all the cuts and gashes, replacing the massive amount of blood he’d lost.

It didn’t help much, not by a long shot. It wasn’t a miraculous instant heal. Crowley still didn’t show any sign of life, his face was bruised almost beyond recognition. But his eyes were both there, albeit closed, and threadbare fresh skin covered the most severe flesh wounds.

Aziraphale panted hard, feeling drained, tired and altogether hopeless. He’d done all he could, but Crowley was still… he couldn’t be dead. “I’d know,” Aziraphale whispered. “I’d know if you were gone for good. You can’t be. But… I don’t know how to bring you back.” He snivelled, then, overwhelmed by desperation. “You- you were always the one to do that sort of thing. You are a lousy demon, really. What with how many lives you saved.” Like the one or the other magician’s dove. _For me_ , a small part of Aziraphale added. _You brought them back to make me happy._

If pressed, Crowley would have argued that he was in fact raising the dead, which was definitely a demonic thing to do. But Aziraphale always saw it as saving lives. They were both happy with their interpretation of things.

Crowley didn’t reply. He just laid there, lips slightly parted, sun shining softly on his face. Somewhere outside the shop window, in the middle of Soho, a bird sang sweetly.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said desperately and softly held his cheek, thumbing over a bruised yet still lovely cheekbone. A single tear ran down his face at the prospect of possibly facing all of eternity alone, without his dearest, most beloved friend.

The tear dropped, but as it fell towards Crowley’s lifeless body, it began to glow and dissipated into a thin mist of light.

Aziraphale felt a pull, somewhere deep inside. The golden mist floated towards Crowley’s parted and lips and disappeared inside his mouth, while Aziraphale panted with sudden exertion. Something was pulling inside of him so strongly he doubled over and he felt a massive drain of energy that sent his head spinning. Electricity suddenly cackled, the air laced with static. Arousal washed through his body and he swallowed a moan, before slumping to the ground next to the sofa, still panting hard.

“ ‘Zzzira…phale?”

The angel’s eyes widened instantly and he scrambled to his knees, hoisting himself up on the edge of the sofa again. “ _Crowley_?!”

Crowley’s position had remained exactly the same as before – but his eyes had opened a tiny bit and he blinked hazily at Aziraphale’s flustered face. “Angel,” he said with the barest of grins and Aziraphale basically smothered him into a desperate hug.

“Oh, I thought I’d lost you there for a moment,” he muttered, not daring to let go of the barely alive demon. “You had me so worried!”

The demon coughed violently and Aziraphale did let go hastily then, but kept his hand on Crowley’s. He felt as if he broke contact, maybe this reality would seize to exist and fade into something much grimmer.

“Who, me?” Crowley blinked, but closed his eyes for so long Aziraphale felt his heartbeat already speed up again in worry. Then, Crowley opened them again. “ _Please_. I’m indestructible.” After moment, he added softly. “And I have you.”

That, in combination with the arousal that was still simmering in his body pooling somewhere in his lower stomach area, awakened something primal in the angel that took all of his willpower not to act upon.

Instead, Aziraphale allowed himself to enjoy the sun filtering through the high windows for a brief moment, inhaling deeply. Crowley groaned and turned his head into the sun, closing his eyes. He looked out of place bathed in sunlight, and yet like he belonged nowhere else but right here. His hair, blood caked though it was, had a golden shimmer to it when the sun hit it.

He knew that in a different place, in a different time, Crowley would wear his sunglasses while he enjoyed the warmth on his skin in St. James’s Park. The sun would shine so brightly that Aziraphale would be able to make out his eyes behind the darkened lenses, blinking lazily up into the sky.

In that vision, that memory, the angel would look at Crowley for hours and hours, enjoying him like a painting, like fine wine. Had done so, in fact, on the many occasions they’d spent afternoons like this with each other.

“Penny for your thoughts?” the real, barely alive Crowley asked. His eyes were still closed, but he kept his head turned into the warm sunbeams.

Aziraphale shrugged helplessly and smiled down at his best friend, eyes glinting traitorously. “It’s a rather beautiful day.”

Crowley coughed blood, but grinned. “Any day would be, after the most recent events.”

“True,” Aziraphale agreed and blinked hastily to regain control over his emotions. He couldn’t stop smiling at the demon, though. “Still.”

“Sap,” Crowley whispered affectionately and awkwardly patted Aziraphale’s thigh with the arm that wasn’t quite as mangled as the other one.

It dawned on Aziraphale that he would gladly go to Hell for the demon. And that he actually literally had. Twice, if you counted the body swap.

ooo

While Crowley’s existence narrowed down mostly to being in pain, there was also something else. A warmth on his inside like he never felt before.

Actually, no. That wasn’t true. He’d felt that before, the longest while ago. Before he’d chosen his new career path as demon. It was pure, unadulterated light.

“What happened?” he asked, trying to prod at his own chest and ending up not doing it because moving his arms meant more pain. “What did you do to me?”

Aziraphale looked worried and guilty at the same time – just like all the times he’d worried about the rights and wrongs of the Arrangement, or miracle-ing stains out of shirts, or giving his sword to peckish humans who just had a little bit of fruit before facing home eviction. “Why, is something wrong?”

“Not sure.”

“I, uhm…. I think I brought you back. A little.”

Crowley felt as though someone just dunked a bucket of ice water over his head. “I- I didn’t realise I was that far gone.” He looked down his body, the torn clothes, the torn flesh. The mangled leftovers of his wings. “Aziraphale… thank you.” He fixed his gaze on the angel, who gave him a weak smile. “I mean it. Next dinner at the Ritz is on me. Hell, the next hundred dinners are on me.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Aziraphale promised, his smile more relaxed than before. Then he eyed Crowley’s chest. “I think I’ll better get some bandages and antiseptic.” Then he seemed to remember something important. “And I need to wash my hands! Don’t want to-“ He narrowed his eyes. “Wait. How are you not melting?”

Crowley raised an eyebrow, and even that hurt. “Have you looked at me? I’m mostly goo already.”

“No, you clot!” Aziraphale chastised him, and somehow Crowley felt at ease with the angel slowly regaining his usual tone. “I mean: how are you not melting after I touched you with my Holy Water hands?”

“And you’re only remembering that now?!” Crowley bit back, equally perplexed. “Well, maybe it wore off already.”

“Might have,” Aziraphale agreed, but his tone remained unconvinced. “But down in Hell… I didn’t even think about that!”

Crowley tried to think, which shouldn’t have hurt since he didn’t actually move, but somehow still hurt anyway. “Well, you didn’t hurt me,” he finally said, not knowing why, either. “Aziraphale, listen. I don’t care. You got me out of there, and I’m only here-“ here with you, here alive, here on Earth and not in Hell, “because of you. That’s all I care about.”

He looked Aziraphale straight in the eyes without blinking – it was something he was rather good at – until the angel finally stopped fretting and returned his gaze.

 “So… I didn’t hurt you?” Aziraphale asked tenderly, but quite confused at the same time.

Crowley shook his head. Angelic hands doused in Holy Water – they had killed Azazel, among others. It hadn’t even occurred to Crowley that Aziraphale could hurt him – should’ve hurt him by all accounts. But that was rather the point. Aziraphale would never hurt him, Crowley was confident in that. _And so the angel hadn’t._

“You never would,” he said, voice raspy and attempting to sound flippant. He failed.

ooo

Aziraphale had been utmost careful and soft with the injured demon. After thoroughly washing his hands – just in case – he’d brought a bowl of warm water and a terry cloth. He’d begun carefully dabbing the blood, soot and grime from Crowley’s face and neck and was now considering the sticky strands of red hair.

Crowley had pointed out that Aziraphale could just miracle him clean – the demon himself didn’t have an ounce of strength at the moment – but Aziraphale too felt drained. Bringing Crowley back had cost him a lot and he needed time to recuperate.

“Can you move your head just a little?” Aziraphale asked and motioned to the armrest of the small sofa. Crowley did what was asked with a small wince. “Yes, like that. Thank you.”

Aziraphale moved to kneel behind his head then and Crowley felt a thin stream of water running over his scalp as the angel used a mug to pour water from the big bowl over the matted mess on Crowley’s head. Then the angel massaged pleasantly fragranced soap into the wet strands with the lightest of touches and Crowley felt his eyes drift close at the intimate, considerate motions.

“Tell me if I’m hurting you,” the angel said quietly, voice hoarse. Crowley just hummed and relaxed into the touch.

Soon, more water was poured over his hair and the angel used a towel to wring out as much water as possible. Crowley wondered briefly if the heat pooling low in his stomach would be enough to dry his hair soon. Even though the touches had been a method of caring and healing, they had been _meaningful_ , too. And caring for him wasn’t a random stranger – it was Aziraphale. Brilliant, gorgeous Aziraphale who had gone to Hell for him. Who had brought him back to life.

Crowley wanted, with the primal, urgent strength that resided within the very core of his being. He wanted everything, every touch, every word. Every glance. Every laughter, every smile. Every tear. He wanted to give _himself_ , too, and that was the scary part. Wanted to give himself to Aziraphale mind, body and soul. (At least in so far as he had those things.)

He lay there, broken bits and pieces of himself, and he gave himself into Aziraphale’s hands trusting, _knowing_ that was the one place he was always, always welcome. And where he would always belong.

Crowley opened his eyes and looked at Aziraphale. The angel was looking back, the strangest expression on his face. Also, upside down. He was still behind Crowley’s head after all. They blinked, and broke the moment.

Aziraphale moved back to Crowley’s side. “I’ll take of the rest of your, er, rags. Fine?”

Crowley just nodded, because the danger of opening his mouth and saying a) something lewd or b) something sappy was imminent. Instead, he watched how Aziraphale plucked at the pieces and strips of tattered cloth with slightly trembling hands, until his chest lay bare. The angel continued down wordlessly, and when Crowley’s tight pants proved too much struggle in the places where they still clung to the demon’s frame, he used a pair of scissors. He slid the cold metal along Crowley’s skin carefully and soon, that fabric was gone, too.

Crowley wasn’t wearing underwear.

In his defence, unlike Aziraphale, who actually purchased his clothes properly, Crowley wished them into existence. And ever so often, he didn’t see the point in wishing for clothing you couldn’t even see. It seemed a pointless waste of wishing power. He couldn’t have known he would be kidnapped on a superficial-clothing-only-day.

Aziraphale took it in stride. They were over 6000 years old, after all, and a bit of nudity was hardly cause for embarrassment.

Except. Except before Aziraphale draped a black tablecloth from the nearby coffee table over his groin, he blushed prettily and Crowley was sure he’d eyed him with more than just a perfunctory glance. His arousal must’ve been obvious, but the demon was past the point of worrying about it and had quite a healthy tolerance for embarrassment anyway.

Aziraphale continued cleaning the marks Hell had left on Crowley’s body silently, only ever making quiet cooing sounds whenever Crowley hissed in pain.

Finally, Crowley’s body was as clean as it would get right now.

“Your wings,” the angel said, mouth a grim line as he let his gaze roam over the extensive damage.

“I could just get rid of them. Grow gills instead,” Crowley suggested half-heartedly. Deep down, he was rather scared for his wings. They were in the worst shape, having doubled as chewing toy for Allocer.

“Nonsense. I’ll see what I can do – if you’ll let me?”

“How do you want me?” Crowley asked, quite aware of the phrasing.

Aziraphale either ignored or didn’t catch the innuendo. “Can you sit? Here, let me help you-“

Together, they managed to get Crowley mostly upright. The demon kept his head turned into the sun while Aziraphale walked around the sofa to stand behind him. “If I could just…”

“Mmh?” Crowley asked, relaxing into the warmth. He was rather like his serpent self that way, content to bask endlessly in sunshine.

Aziraphale put his hands on the tight muscles where the wings met with Crowley’s upper back and sent shivers down the demon’s spine and into the darkness that was hidden by the black cloth. Suddenly heat flared up on Crowley’s back and spread, like molten lava, down his wings. It wasn’t painful, per se, but still a burning sensation that made both Crowley and Aziraphale pant in shock.

Crowley felt how splinters of bone fell to the ground, how muscles knit back together and how broken pieces connected again. When the heat ebbed away, the wings weren’t new and shiny. But they weren’t torn to rags anymore, either. Like the rest of his body, they had been _saved_ – the healing would come with time and care.

While the demon still marvelled at the sensation, Aziraphale seemed rather out of breath. “I’ll be back in a minute. Shout if you’re about to be dragged to Hell,” he told him, voice raspy, and then his steps retreated up the stairs.

Outside, the sun was still shining (which seemed a bit odd, really, considering the passing of time). Crowley waited for Aziraphale. There was something he needed to say.

ooo

Aziraphale felt light-headed as he undid his vest and shirt with trembling hands. He had done it a second time. He’d pulled the light from deep within him and given it to Crowley.

His skin felt too tight, too hot. His own blood was rushing loudly in his ears, his heart racing in his chest. A steady pull in his chest made him yearn to go back downstairs, right back to Crowley. As if a part of him was missing.

Except it wasn’t missing. He knew exactly where it was. Some of his essence, his soul, resided now within the demon. And yet it was only a formality. Because if Aziraphale was being honest, he had long been – for the loss of better words – fire and flame for him. And they made a rather good pair. Like sushi and soy sauce.

The angel’s clothes hadn’t stayed clean while he took care of Crowley and he took of his trousers, blood- and soot-stained, with an unhappy huff. He did consider changing into another pair (that looked exactly the same), but something in him turned towards the more… archaic part of his wardrobe.

Once you knew how to wrap a toga you didn’t forget. It was like riding a velocipede, Aziraphale told himself, as he struggled with the length of fabric. But it provided a cool breeze on his hot skin, room to manoeuvre in – and lots and lots of cloth in front of his groin area, because even though angels in general were sexless unless they make an effort, Aziraphale had long ago made the effort. In the 1900s, to be precise. As had Crowley, evidently.

Heat rose to Aziraphale’s cheeks again as a very detailed picture flashed before his inner eye.  It wasn’t that he was prude – he just believed it rather rude to face somebody’s genitals slightly out of context.

Then he thought about facing said genitals within proper context and that did nothing to sooth the heat on his skin, so he gulped down a glass of water and padded back downstairs.

 

Crowley looked up when he entered the room again and Aziraphale became aware of how strange he must’ve looked. He stood on his hardwood floor, surrounded by books and wore (basically) a sheet, his wings were out, a blush still tinting his face.

“Er, I’m a tad tired. The wings don’t… cooperate,” he explained sheepishly.

“You look good, angel,” Crowley just replied and continued staring at him.

Aziraphale padded closer, a little unsure of what to do next. He settled on something familiar. “Tea?”

“In a minute. I think we need to talk,” the demon replied. He moved a little on the small sofa so that both of them fit, even though it was tight, what with both their wings out.

“You know I won’t pry about what happened to you,” Aziraphale offered softly, unsure if Crowley felt like he owed him an apology.

“I know. It’s not about that. Well it is, but not about the what. It’s about the why,” Crowley explained rather cryptically. “It’s because of… us.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Us?”

“Look, when you got discorporated back during the No-pocalypse, I was a mess. I meant what I said to you – we don’t have sides anymore. We’re our own side. And I don’t want to be here without you. I like the Earth. I even – and I won’t ever repeat that – like the people. But I don’t care about all of it, if you’re not there,” Crowley told him, tone serious. He didn’t blink.

The angel swallowed hard. “My dear, it would be rather dreadful without you around, too. You know that.” A gross understatement - he had sobbed into Crowley’s mostly dead body only a short while ago, after all.

“Oh, I don’t give a rat’s arse about ‘dreadful’, angel,” Crowley bit out. “I’m talking about _everything_ – the dinners, the lunches, the walks, me riling you, the whole thwarting my evil wiles business – we’re so much more than that. And they knew it, that’s why they dragged me back Down. They knew that the worst thing for me would be to never see you ever again.” He paused. “Ow.” He pressed one hand to his sore throat.

Aziraphale reached out gently and removed Crowley’s fingers from the pink new skin where the iron had burned him. “Maybe we should wait and talk about this later?” Not that he _wanted_ to wait – things were taking a rather shocking turn of events. But Crowley was clearly still in pain and getting worked up didn’t help.

“No! I need to say something to you,” Crowley disagreed passionately. Then he slouched down a bit, his wings flaring up protectively behind him. He looked smaller now, vulnerable. “And I don’t know if I can even say it properly. I’m not supposed to, anyway. And even if I can, I probably won’t say it much. You see, it’s not really my thing,” Crowley ranted, looking anywhere but Aziraphale. “But you, angel – you’re my thing. You’re… everything. Always been there.” Crowley looked physically pained now, but he met Aziraphale’s bewildered gaze. “So…. here goes.” He gulped. “I… love you. Have, I think, for quite a while. Can’t be too sure, what with, er, first offence … and everything. But- I do. Love you.”

A beat. Both of them seemed to wait for something – Crowley probably seeing if he was going to burst into flame spontaneously, Aziraphale mostly shocked.

When nothing along the lines of spontaneous combustion happened, Crowley seemed to relax a tad.

“I love you, too,” Aziraphale whispered, astonished, because the whole world seemed to have slotted into place.

Crowley looked as if the angel had struck him.

Aziraphale locked eyes with him. “I’m in love with you.”

The demon cleared his throat. “Er… you mean in an all-creatures-great-and-small kind of way.”

_I’m astonished you can’t feel it, Aziraphale had said at the Convent. I don’t feel anything out of the ordinary, Crowley had replied._ It was the same now – being in love _wasn’t_ out of the ordinary, so Crowley naturally overlooked the whole picture.

Aziraphale’s smile was soft and warm. “No, dear. Somewhere along the way-“ London, 1941, a double-cross by the Nazis, a demon crossing consecrated ground for him, saving his life and his books- “you made me fall in love with you.”

That didn’t have quite the effect Aziraphale had aimed for, as Crowley looked deeply panicked. “I _swear_ to you I didn’t! I know, I know, the oath of a demon isn’t worth a dime and so on and so forth, but I swear. The tempting business and all – I never did that seriously with you. I wouldn’t- I just. I really wouldn’t.”

“See, I always knew you were just a little good,” Aziraphale calmed him and reached out, wrapping his hand around Crowley’s soothingly.

“Wow, no need to be rude, me opening up, and all,” Crowley complained out of habit, but briefly squeezed the angel’s hand. His eyes flickered down to where their hands joined. “Angel, you can’t love me. What if that made you fall – I can’t let that happen. _Won’t_ let that happen.”

Worry clouded Aziraphale’s face. “I wondered about that, too. But… I’d still be here. With you.” He looked at Crowley and clearly tried to put on a brave face. “I’ve made my decision. A while ago, really. You were right. We’re not on the side of Heaven or Hell anymore. We’re on our side.” The angel smiled brilliantly. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” he finished.

The bookshop fell quiet.

ooo

Crowley looked at his companion of 6000 years, give or take. He let his eyes roam over soft curls, intelligent eyes, the kindest most loving of smiles. A plump frame, hands that he’d seen do everything (well, not everything, his mind helpfully supplied – he was a demon, and also very much attracted to his angel) from turning pages, to opening wine bottles to melting demons. Crowley looked at Aziraphale and saw everything he’d seen hundreds, thousands of times. Everything he never wanted to _not_ see, ever.

“You admitted I wasss right,” he noticed, a grin forming on his face as he made a step towards the angel. Aziraphale clearly pretended he hadn’t and smiled what he probably hoped was an enigmatic smile. Actually, it looked very amused.

That did it for Crowley. With a last flash of his eyes at Aziraphale, he pulled the angel close und crashed their mouths together in a hungry kiss.

ooo

I’M SORRY TO INTERRUPT, the two more felt than heard a voice. It was instantly recognizable although if pressed they both would admit to have thought Crowley would never hear it ever again after the saunter downwards.

“Hello, uh, God,” Crowley said awkwardly and patted Aziraphale’s chest, straightening his toga, as if he didn’t just have his tongue down the enthusiastic angel’s throat. Aziraphale looked ready to faint from embarrassment.

HELLO CROWLEY. OR DO YOU PREFER ANTHONY? God asked politely. Crowley choked out a “whatever, really,” still not over the fact that _God_ was speaking to them.  To _him_.

AND HELLO AZIRAPHALE. I WON’T TAKE MORE THAN A MOMENT OF YOUR TIME.

“Oh-no- I mean, don’t worry-it’s quite alright- I mean- _How can I help you_?” Aziraphale finally remembered how to use his nervous system to stimulate his voice box to form words.

I THINK THIS TIME I MIGHT BE ABLE TO HELP YOU, God replied, sounding slightly amused. YOU SEE, I TALKED TO LUCIFER , BEELZEBUB AND GABRIEL  A COUPLE OF MINUTES AGO. THERE SEEMED TO HAVE BEEN A SLIGHT… MISUNDERSTANDING REGARDING MY INEFFABLE WILL.

“Oh?” Aziraphale asked helplessly and exchanged a worried glance with Crowley.

INDEED. FROM NOW ON THE TWO OF YOU WILL NOT-

“Sorry?” Crowley interrupted. God was still incorporeal but the demon and Aziraphale could just tell They were pausing expectantly. The demon cleared his throat. “We got dragged to Heaven and Hell – twice, in my case - and we’ve marched out every time. I think it’s quite clear that we can’t- we don’t _want_ to be part of the whole spiel anymore.”

IS THAT ALL? God asked, infinitely patient.

“Uh, yes.” Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s hand, definitely waited for a smiting heavenly beam of light – but he was as tired as Aziraphale and if one of them – or both – had to go down now, it would be together.

ACTUALLY, THIS WAS SORT OF MY POINT AS WELL.

Aziraphale’s jaw hit the floor. “It was?”

God chuckled. I’VE BEEN TRYING TO GET MY MESSAGE ACROSS FOR QUITE A WHILE NOW. IT SEEMS DEMONS AND ANGELS HAVE JUST AS MUCH TROUBLE UNDERSTANDING IT AS THE HUMANS DO.

Crowley cocked his head. “Sorry, er – the message. What would that be?”

BE KIND TO EACH OTHER.

“Oh. Well. So that’s tickety-boo,” Crowley said matter-of-factly and Aziraphale reflexively elbowed him into the rips before remembering the severe pain that would inflict. Still, reverence in the face of God and such was adequate.

“Ow – hey, God just said to be kind to each other.”

“Will you _stop blaspheming_!” Aziraphale hissed and gave the demon a proper evil look, before turning his face upward with an apologetic smile. “Right. Sorry. So, we’ll, uh… carry on then?”

IF YOU LIKE, God told him and this time They were sounding properly amused.

ooo

 “Not that I’m not glad God’s rooting for us or anything…” Crowley mused, “but where did the whole wrathful-drowning-a-whole-people-in-a-flood-vibe go?”

Aziraphale thought about it for a moment. “Well it’s been thousands of years. Personal growth?”

“Fair enough.”

ooo

There was still sunlight filtering in through the windows and that shouldn’t have been physically possible anymore. Crowley pointed it out to Aziraphale, who startled, eyes wide. “Oh, bugger. I kind of miracled it to be a nice day, you know, so if you woke up, you’d do so finding it… nice,” he finished lamely. “I think I rather overdid it.”

Crowley looked at him in touched confusion. “You… miracled a nice day… for me?”

“I know, I know, I’m a sap-“ Aziraphale started but was effectively cut off when Crowley kissed him.

“I love you, angel,” he said against Aziraphale’s lips and kissed him again. Then he tugged at his hand. “Do you want to-?”

“Bedroom?” Aziraphale asked at the same time and they both laughed before making their way up the stairs slowly. It was rather a hassle, what with the wings and Crowley’s injuries , but in due time, they reached the small room Aziraphale used mostly to store his wardrobe. At least he’d thought to even put a bed in there, which was covered in soft white sheets and had never been used before.

Crowley dropped the black cloth around his hips casually and turned to look at Aziraphale, who looked at him with a soft smile and slightly parted lips.

The bruises, wounds and claw marks littering Crowley’s body weren’t exactly aesthetically pleasing but nevertheless, Aziraphale regarded him with utmost reverence before he, too, whispered: “I love you.”

Crowley reached out for the angel and kissed him, licked at his lips until they opened, took in the taste of the forbidden fruit that had dangled before him for 6000 years. He began sliding the white cloth off Aziraphale’s shoulder, following the falling fabric with his hands, roaming over warm skin and marvelling in the general knowledge of being allowed to do this.

The angel bit his lip as the last layer of fabric slid down his now naked frame and Crowley’s hungry eyes roamed over the newly exposed parts of him. “It’s… it’s okay right? I mean, I’m rather fond of it but if you-“

“Aziraphale. You’re _gorgeous_. Atrocious sense of style, maybe, but this-“ Crowley ran his hands over the softly padded sides of the angel. “this body of yours – _you_ – are marvellous.”

“Oh” Aziraphale breathed and blushed so prettily Crowley growled low in his throat before pushing him back and down onto the bed.

“Can’t believe I wasted thousands of years when I could’ve been doing this all along,” Crowley said sotto voce before he opened his mouth in a rather snake-like fashion and engulfed the angel’s cock with delicious wet warmth.

Aziraphale’s eyes rolled back and his back arched off the bed. “Oh- Oh dear- Crowley-“

Crowley hummed in amusement and felt how strongly the angel reacted to the vibrations. He slid his mouth up Aziraphale’s cock until he tongued the very tip, his eyes glinting in obscene amusement when he thought about how neither of them would be able to look at a strawberry ice lolly the same ever again.

The little licks and sucks drove Aziraphale mad with lust and Crowley had never seen someone fall apart so beautifully like the angel, who writhed under his attentions and let a constant stream of _Oh-yes-please_ -es drop from his mouth.

The demon, however, rather than finishing what he’d started, had something in mind that required the angel’s cock the way it currently was – hard, leaking and just about the most wonderful sight. He slowed down, still kissing and nibbling everywhere he could reach, but at the same time, he reached down between his own legs and began preparing himself.

Aziraphale was too far gone to notice, until Crowley slid up his body, dominating him in a sloppy kiss and pressed their bodies flush against each other.

“Azzzziraphale,” the demon hissed, smiling dangerously. “I want you. ‘s that all right?”

“You already – _oh, do that again_ – have me, Crowley. Whatever you want. I’m yours,” Aziraphale managed to pant, focusing his glassy eyes on the face in front of him.

“That’sss all I need,” Crowley hissed and lowered himself on the angel’s cock. Aziraphale shouted Crowley’s name, eyes wide.

Aziraphale’s hands found his lower back, supporting Crowley firmly when he began to move in earnest. The angel’s eyes were lust-blown and the demon committed himself fully to showing him exactly the fierce, fiery and all-consuming love he held for him. His wings arched behind his back, black like the night blocking out most of the light – except for the stark contrast of Aziraphale’s wings spread beneath the angel’s body, mirroring Crowley’s looming figure.

When Aziraphale came, he didn’t do so with a shout, but rather with one sweet, shocked whisper of “Crowley?” before lust wrecked his body completely and his hips bucked up into Crowley, who just held on and enjoyed the ride.

After a while, Aziraphale stilled, panting heavily, and Crowley slid off carefully, lowering himself to lie next to his angel. The change in position was painful and required a little bit of coordination so as to not squash white or black wings, but once he’d managed, he ran deft fingers up the inside of the angel’s thighs, over his stomach, dusted across his nipples until he finally cupped his face and pressed a kiss on his lips.

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked him and Crowley had to laugh, because at least he wasn’t the one looking as if he’d been run over by a train. Then, his body caught up with his mind and he realized he was aching all over, what with his near-death experience earlier.

“Had your cock up my arse, worth it,” he replied, subdued.

Aziraphale swatted him lightly, which Crowley interpreted as ‘language, dear!’ – but the way the angel’s cock twitched slightly at being mentioned proofed that Aziraphale didn’t exactly mind.

“You didn’t-“ Aziraphale then noticed with a pointed look at Crowley’s nether regions. Before he could get some ridiculous idea along the lines of the demon not having had fun, Crowley gave him a diabolical grin.

“I was rather enjoying the show, you see. Pretty little angel like yourself, fallen for the wiles of the Great Serpent of Eden.”

Aziraphale laughed, not embarrassed in the slightest, before propping himself up and leaning over his cocky best friend and lover. “I suppose I should do some thwarting then?”

“Angel?” Crowley asked, his voice dropping an octave when his new lover trailed kisses down his stomach, fingers dancing lightly over Crowley’s cock. With one last look at the demon, Aziraphale closed his lips around Crowley’s cock and sucked lightly, moaning softly when he felt its velvety hardness on his tongue.

Crowley felt the muscles in his legs shiver as Aziraphale’s tongue flattened itself around the underside of his cock. The soft warmth tightened as the angel hollowed his cheeks and caused Crowley to push into his lover’s mouth some more. Crowley was rewarded by a low hum and Aziraphale swallowed around him before relaxing his jaw, silently inviting Crowley to do it again.

Aziraphale wrapped one hand around the base of Crowley’s cock, unable to fit all of it in his mouth without gagging, and Crowley buried his hands in the blond’s hair, pressing him close and relished the soft licks against his slit while the hand around his base moved firmly, setting up a rhythm he wouldn’t be able to resist long.

The sounds that echoed through the room were obscene; Aziraphale was noisy while he was blowing his lover, and he noticed how much the wet popping and sliding turned Crowley on. Crowley, in turn, groaned deeply, swearing colourfully whenever Aziraphale’s mouth sent an especially wicked bolt of pleasure through his body.

Aziraphale’s lips were wet and flushed pink, a little bit of spit and precum smeared over his chin and he kept his eyes trained on Crowley’s, moaning at the taste of his lover. Then the angel moved, suddenly, took as much of Crowley’s cock as he could and swallowed around him with a deep moan. Crowley jerked forward, half-realizing the choked sound that Aziraphale’s made, but he was already coming in thick spurts down Aziraphale’s throat. Aziraphale was swallowing readily, but it was too much and Crowley pulled back, the last of the mess ending up smeared across Aziraphale’s lips and chin.

Although Crowley was still breathing heavily, the view in front of him burnt itself into his brain vividly. Aziraphale stared up at him in utter awe and adoration, the want burning in his eyes like fire behind glass. He’d fallen back onto his haunches, and watched Crowley. The hand that had been wrapped around Crowley’s cock before was now lightly touching his own lower lip, smearing over the slick, milky cum there.

Aziraphale’s mouth was slightly open, red and swollen, a stark contrast to the pearly liquid smeared over his face. There were tracks from tears in the corners of his eyes where they’d watered from choking on Crowley’s cock – but Aziraphale was so utterly wrecked, so utterly lost to the world , reduced to nothing but being Crowley’s lover, that he didn’t seem to care. His tongue darted out and licked his lower lip and the tip of his finger, bringing about another wanton moan.

Crowley pushed himself up with slightly shaking arms and leaned forward, reaching out for Aziraphale. He brought up one hand and ran a thumb through the mess on the angel’s chin, feeling his spent cock twitch as Aziraphale flicked out his tongue again, this time to lick Crowley’s thumb clean.

“This is a new and _very_ interesting side of you,” Crowley noticed, the gravel in his voice betraying his arousal and endless wonder.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened at that and he blushed, so Crowley quickly pressed a hungry kiss on the half-open lips, pushing his tongue into Aziraphale’s mouth and tasting himself there. “Thwarting accomplished,” he muttered against the angel’s mouth and Aziraphale laughed.

Crowley pulled him down on the mattress then, in a messy tangle of limbs. He brushed the tip of a finger over the faint wetness in the corner of Aziraphale’s left eye. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, I- I liked it,” angel admitted, ears bright red. “It was just… unexpected.” His voice was raw and Crowley felt a shiver run down his spine knowing that he was the cause for that.

“You need some rest,” Aziraphale chided softly, as Crowley pressed closer and nibbled on the angel’s clavicle despite clearly being too wrung out at the moment.

Crowley huffed, but his eyes were already half-closed. “Will you stay here? I know you don’t like sleeping.”

Aziraphale pulled him closer and folded his wings over them protectively. “I’ll be here.”

And within seconds, they had both fallen asleep.

ooo

Crowley took a while to heal. During this time, neither of them heard from Heaven or Hell. And afterwards, when they were out and about again, walking the streets of London, wiling and thwarting by day, talking and laughing and drinking by night, there was radio silence from their respective employers, too.

It probably wouldn’t last forever. But it didn’t matter. Because the angel had gone to Hell for the demon that was his best friend and so much more without falling. Because the demon found himself loving and being loved in return and was _worthy_ of that love. Because Earth was under their protection. And there wasn’t a power in the universe that could’ve stopped them.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a line from "Set It All Free" from Sing (Movie).
> 
> English is not my first language, so please excuse any mistakes.
> 
> I had this fic on a floppy disc (!) for an eternity, Good Omens being one of my first fandoms. Then the beautiful gay madness of a TV show happened and now I'm head over heels for my two ethereal/occult idiots all over again. So I used my first draft, added bits from the show and... there it is.
> 
> Thank you Michael Sheen and David Tennant for playing these beautiful idiots, and thank you Terry and Neil for thinking of them in the first place.
> 
> And thank YOU for reading!


End file.
